Everyone has those staring-at-the-ceiling sort of nights, and, as hard as I've tried, tonight seems desperate to be one.

Eric was fast asleep by the time I got upstairs, with his long limbs tucked underneath him, neat and considerate, on his side of the bed. Even though the house is pin-drop-silent, save for Eric's slight snoring in my ear, and a few eruptions of sound from the east wing, it feels like the clogs turning in my head make little mechanical whirring noises with every new thought that pops up.

I can't remember it exactly, and Eric would know it better than I do, but I think C.S. Lewis said something about thinking. Something like: 'passing the night with a toothache is in part miserable because the night is spent both with a toothache, and the thought that one has a toothache.' Something like that. I don't think a toothache is what's wrong, but it would be so much easier if it was. This ache is one I can't place.

I've run through the obvious options: number one – guilt. I thought maybe it was that I felt bad about lying to Mum. But if ever there was a time when I understood the purpose of a lie, this lie in particular, it was now: nestled against Eric's chest, in the beautiful British countryside. If rational guilt was going to keep me up, it wouldn't choose tonight. Cross that one off. As soon as I rule it out, Eric rustles behind me, tangling his leg with mine, and I feel warm and safe. Definitely crossing that one off.

Number two, worry. Maybe it's Lolly's 'don't look so scared, Jelly' ringing in my ears; the thought that my being here is putting Eric's reputation in jeopardy. Is it? At home I understand what's at risk – Eric's job, Mum's sanity. Here I don't know what his family would think; I don't know what's on the line, and all the not knowing inspires a little nausea. Maybe that's it.

Number three... hunger? I chew on my inner lip, trying to remember what I've had to eat today. I had some orange juice before Kitty's little shopping trip, and then, of course, a bit of cheesecake in the afternoon; but between all the questions and tensions at dinner, I only managed to get down some rosé, cauliflower and truffle starter soup, and an after dinner mint. I thought the 'crippling fear of ruining my boyfriend's life' thing dwarfed a little hunger, but the sound of my gurgling stomach makes me glance down and reconsider.

The sound wakes Eric up, and his sleepy chuckle against the back of my neck is the sexiest sound.

"Someone hungry?"

"No, no," I whisper. Gurgle. "Go back to sleep."

"Evie."

When I sigh and roll over to face him, he rests his hand on my hip as he looks at me. Half his face is still buried in the white pillow, but the sleep-heavy eye I can see is trained on me, and ugh, he's ridiculously adorable.

He looks incredulous at first, but when he reads my expression, he raises his head and his brows are slanted in concern.

"Everything alright, my love?"

"Mhm. Just..." Gurgle "...thinking."

He smiles, before his eyes squint and search mine, then glance at the clock above the headboard, reading 2:10am.

"Feel like thinking out loud over some cheesecake?"

God, I love this man.

　————-  ♡  ————-

I'd never have guessed it, but the slowly rising glow of a black sky in the early hours of the morning, paired with the sound of the sound of sterling forks raking in unison make for a beautiful kind of peace.

The cheesecake is heavenly, of course, but we feel pretty ethereal too; there's something dreamy about sitting on the counter with him stood between my legs, looking right into my eyes and seeing me – really seeing me.

"Okay," I say, pulling a clean fork out from between my lips. He squeezes my thigh with his free hand to let me know that he's listening.

"At dinner tonight..."

"Uh-huh."

"Or last night, I guess."

"Yes..."

"Louisa said something interesting."

He narrows his eyes at me. "Interesting how?"

I look down, playing with the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. I really don't want to say the wrong thing... But nothing good will come of keeping secrets from him too. I just need to... say it. Best case scenario: he talks to her, they come to some sort of understanding, and everything works out fine. Worst case scenario: she decides to tell everyone, they all judge us and cut Eric off both socially and financially, leaving him shunned by all of high society Britain. Christ. Okay, maybe don't think about the worst case; just say it.

"She said she'd keep it a secret, but I think... I think she figured it out. I think she knows about us." My gaze meets his at the final word, and my breathing stills in anticipation of his reaction.

His face was frozen, wrought with concern, but when I finally get the words out, he breathes this abrupt exhale of relief, as though I've told him that I've found his misplaced bank card. Did he mishear me?

"Christ, Evie, you had me worried something was really wrong," he exhales again, slicing into his piece of cheesecake like all is well. When he catches my quizzical look, he laughs,

"Evie, Lolly already knows." Wait, what? "She was one of the first people I told. Her, Pip, Nelly, Dad and Mum. Lolly's definitely pulling your leg."

"They all know?"

"Mhm. Told them about you ages ago. Around Christmas, I think."

Well that saves me a lot of worrying. For a second I'm gobsmacked, then smitten, and then I'm not quite sure what to say except,

"Oh." Then, a moment later, in genuine confusion,

"Okay, I have several questions. What the fuck is Louisa's deal?"

Eric chuckles again, swallowing before tentatively explaining,

"Lolly is... a bit of a puzzle. We've been close since we were teenagers, but she has always been a bit ..." He purses his lips looking for the right word.

"Intense?" I fill in. It's certainly the impression of her that I have.

"Protective?" He suggests, although he doesn't quite sound like he believes it himself. "Intense." He agrees tilted head and light laugh,

"Very intense. You can never quite tell what to expect from her. She likes her power," he says, playing with my fingers with distant eyes as though he's considering her character himself, "and her girls..."

I want to quip mhm, I've noticed, but the breath he takes before he speaks again is heavy and pensive, and I get the feeling I'd better shut up and listen.

"Back in the boarding school days, we used to have these room checks. And it was this blonde girl, only a couple years older than us at most. She'd come 'round the rooms, all surly and strict-faced, and look under beds for dates or drugs or whatever she thought we'd be stupid enough to hide in plain sight."

He speaks so familiarly, recounting with such vacant-eyed intensity and hollow laughs that it feels like I'm seeing right into his head, and meeting an Eric I've never encountered before.

"Anyway," he goes on, "she came 'round to my room once, and I had a whole lot of people in there, but nobody knew she was coming."

I don't know why this story started, and I don't know where it's ending, and something about the obscurity of it all makes me shift uncomfortably on the counter. I'm looking for something I recognise in his eyes, but they're blank and foreign.

"Normally, the word travelled fast, and you could get the girls out the window and get rid of whatever needed getting rid of before she got to you, but this time we must've been the poor prats first on the list.

"So, she comes in and she just goes absolutely ballistic," his pupils, still expressionless, widen dramatically, "and everyone's smoking, there's girls everywhere – I think one of them actually brought her dog over which just added unnecessary fuel to the fire."

Maybe it's the morning darkness, but as he tells the story, his face looks softer, younger, as though the boy who lived it is resurfacing, with his eternally amused look and large river-blue eyes.

"So, this lady's just yelling, going absolutely mad about how this is my '4th infraction', and 'as soon as the head hears of this' I'm out on my arse. And everyone sort of just stops, and goes 'Christ, this might actually be serious.'

"Lolly was high as a kite, higher than anyone else there, easily. But as soon as everyone goes quiet, she stands up, totally composed, walks over to the lady and starts just talking to her, like she's anyone – stroking her arm, making her blush. And you know Lolly, she can make you feel so important if she wants to.

"I don't know what she said to her, and she's never told me, but she gets this girl to turn around and walk out, as if she's not seen anything, and then shuts the door behind her and asks for the blunt. It was in-sane. I don't know how she did it." He shakes his head.

I don't really know 'Lolly' at all, but from the little I know of her, it sounds like the exact kind of thing she could pull off. I don't say that, though. He's still looking off, past me and into the black garden, as though the night helps him remember.

"A week later, the girl's gone. Apparently, Lolly somehow got her to take the blame. For the drugs, the dog shit – everything. Not that we cared then." His smile's gone now, and in its place is a straight-lipped detachment. But he looks down, gnawing on his inside cheek, and I can feel his shame. I grab hold of his hand and hold it against my heart – he looks up suddenly, back in the moment, and it feels like I've pulled him out of an abyss. He smiles with sad eyes,

"Anyhow, that's when I decided that I trusted her. It's never clear with Macklins, but Lolly's alright as they go. Cold as she seems, heh."

As I rub my thumb against his knuckles, back and forth, I can't help but wonder if Eric sees it the way I do. The girl, wherever she is now, did nothing wrong but fall on the unlucky side, unfortunate enough to play pawn in it all; Eric, Louisa and their friends fell on the lucky side, whether they deserved to be there or not. The way I see it, there wasn't any right or wrong, only the lucky and the unlucky, and it sounds as though being a Macklin is a lucky as one can get. But the difference between the Eric in the story and the Eric I know tells me that maybe he's well aware.

He shakes his head again, running a hand through his fluffy hair, and I watch the glaze that formed over his eyes clear. The idea that he's shaking away what's on his heart makes my heart sink, but I don't want to push the point too hard and make him feel worse than I can see he already does.

"Eric..." I murmur, my voice giving away something of how I feel. When he looks at me, he sees the bubble that's formed between us, and he pops it when he pulls our joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to my palm. Surely he doesn't expect me to just leave it alone?

"Come on," he pats my thigh, "you said you had a ton of questions. Hit me."

"Alright," I go on hesitantly, and he pulls my lip out from between my teeth when I gnaw at it.

"Go on, Evie, I know there's more," he smiles teasingly. He's right, there is.

"Okay – what did Pip mean when he said that I was the one keeping you in London?"

"Wow, does that say 3am? We should probably get back to bed..."

"Eric!" I slap his arm. When he shrugs, his smile is shy and honest, and I want to cup his cheeks and kiss them.

"Alright, alright. Thing is: Macklin men make a lot of money."

"Sounds horrible." He eyes me playfully before he continues,

"And they do that managing hedge funds and investment banks or running law firms – that's what was lined up for me after uni."

Almost involuntarily, my face screws into a grimace, and he laughs knowingly,

"Yes, it, uh, wasn't quite how I saw myself either. So, when I got my English degree, Dad gave me 2 years to figure out what to do with it."

"Or else you'd have to have to come back and run a bank?" I interject.

He nods, forcing the heavy breath out through his lips,

"Partner at Uncle Hugh's firm."

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly. But then, I found a pretty good TA position in Wimbledon – not-so-great pay, but it seemed fulfilling. Settled into London for a few months, but I wasn't totally sold..."

Now I know where the story's going, or, at least, I think I do, but my eyes are still trained on him in rapt anticipation of what comes next.

"Then, I met this girl." He leans in, and he's all playful and coy now, resting his head on my shoulder, while tracing patterns on my thigh,

"And the circumstances were a bit complicated at first, but, eventually... London started looking pretty good."

I feel my soul soar at the simplicity of it, and I hope he can't hear my heart speed up. I feel like I need to pinch myself, but if this is a dream, I want to stay asleep forever.

"What about the firm?" I say it softly, in part because his hand's inching higher than it started and it makes my breath hitch in my throat, but mostly because I don't care about the firm. He chose me. He stayed in London for me.

"Sod the firm," he says with certainty and a chuckle, "Pip'll be old enough to make partner soon, if he wants it. I am more than happy where I am."

The grin can't help itself, and I look away, twirling the almost-empty glass platter with my finger. I wonder if the feeling will ever go away – the feeling I get every time he says things like that, so simple and affirming. Everything in me jumps up, soaring and singing, he likes me! He really likes me!

I trap him between my legs, wrapping them around his lower back, and pulling him close.

"I love you."

"I adore you."

🍑 (beginning of mature scene) 🍑

This moment can't be any more perfect, and I'm certain of it until he drags his finger across the cheesecake platter, collecting the creamy remains of the caramel spread on his finger. He moves his finger to his mouth to finish off the last of it, but I hold his finger in my grip, and grab his gaze.

"You don't mind, do you?" I ask demurely.

With a subtle smirk, he shrugs,

"Not at all," and he watches silently, as I tongue his icing-covered finger, working it in and out with gentle roughness; my pouty lips never loosen their grip, and my eyes never leaving my boy's. His captivation, his parted lips and the slow rise-and-fall of his chest make me fight to hide a smirk of my own. He sucks in a breath, long and low, and he's on the right side of self-control as he grabs the hold of the back of my thigh with carnal force, draping my leg around his waist, bringing me close enough that our chests touch. His eyes are fierce with wonder, and oh, the possibility of this early morning. But there's a far-off thud from upstairs and he laughs shakily, his dark eyes slowly but certainly sobering,

"A-Alright, minx, let's get you to bed before you get the both of us in trouble."

"As you wish."

I let his finger fall with a swift 'pop' sound, and I grin behind his back when he lifts me off of the counter and starts back up the stairs to his room, holding me bridal style. The ache's gone, the morning's creeping in, and something tells me I'll sleep much better this time round.

🍑 (end of mature scene) 🍑